


Dum Vivimus Vivamus

by Provocatrixxx



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, excessive kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8014345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Provocatrixxx/pseuds/Provocatrixxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“We’ll get this back to Malcolm and then see about some sleep,” Adam decides, easing out onto the main road and feeling the tightness in his shoulders return full force. There’s nothing to be done now until Malcolm tracks their soldier down, and the helplessness is smothering again.</i>
</p><p> <i>“Sleep,” Lucas echoes, and twists the word into something ugly.</i></p><p>  <i>“There’s a spare bed at mine,” Adam says, determinedly not looking at Lucas’s face in the mirror as he heads for Thames House.</i></p><p>The missing spaces in Series 7, Episode One. Lucas is damaged, but not broken. Adam knows he feels. They fit into each others' broken places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dum Vivimus Vivamus

**Author's Note:**

> [Roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/pseuds/roane) and [Wintergrey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergrey/pseuds/wintergrey) are the kindest, most encouraging people. Thank you.
> 
> Title from the Latin, "While we live, let us live"

Lucas’s skin is pale in the stark striplights of MI5’s main shower-room, ink harsh and blue-black where it smudges across his back and over his chest. He’s all sharp angles and dark bruises, and Adam stares for longer than is polite. He knows Lucas sees him watching, but he doesn’t speak or acknowledge him as he strips out of his tattered jogging bottoms and damp socks. There are scars beneath the tattoos, silver threads of them that criss-cross over his body and catch the light.

“Thanks,” he says when Adam holds out the shirt and spare pair of jeans.

“Don’t mention it,” Adam says, catching sight of his own reflection in the mirror. He looks tired, eyes red-rimmed, and hair mussed up from running his fingers through it.

“Let me guess. If you find him, someone else is the hero, and if you don’t-” Lucas leaves the question hanging, catching his eyes in the mirror, and his mouth twitches up in an approximation of a smile.

“Never changes.” He leans back against the cold tiles, taking the opportunity to rest for a moment, out of sight of the team. Lucas pulls the jeans on first, and Adam’s gaze flickers over his skin, taking in the onion domes across his shoulders, the blocky text on the nape of his neck.

“Dum spiro spero,” Lucas supplies without even looking at him, “While-

“While I breathe, I hope.” Adam finishes. He wants to reach across, rest his palm on the largest of the domes and see if Lucas’s skin is as cool as it looks.

“Something like that.” Lucas fills one of the sinks with water, resting his weight on his arms, and for a moment their eyes meet in the mirror and Adam can see just how deep the exhaustion goes.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, pushing off the wall and feeling the tension settle into his shoulders again. He should do some push-ups, see if he can’t push the pain away for a few more hours at least. He nods to Lucas as he leaves, and walks the long way back up to the grid.

***

“Adam, we’ve got a match.” Malcolm leans back and shifts the information over to the larger screen, reading out the stats as he goes. Lucas leans over his shoulder, sliding into place as though he belongs there, and Adam can’t help but smile.

“So. Bring him in, shake him down,” Lucas suggests, looking over his shoulder for approval.

“The moment we do that they’ll know they’ve been compromised,” Adam says, leaning in closer. “This man will have intelligence that’ll lead us directly to Andy Sullivan. We need to get our hands on his phone.” He can see Lucas’s frustration reflected in the monitor, the lines of his face made sharper by helplessness. “Where does he live?”

Malcolm pulls the address up on screen, showing the house, the blueprints.

“Consistent with his cover,” he says, “only heavy domestic security.”

It’s the perfect opportunity, and Adam lets his smile spill out onto his face.

“You’ll need your coat,” he says, and is amused when Lucas turns to him in surprise, confusion writ large on his face. “It’s cold out.”

Lucas’s face opens when he grins, and he looks a good ten years younger as he strides to catch up, heading for the door.

“I don’t have a coat,” he says, and Adam laughs.

***

They find Lucas a coat. And another hot cup of tea. Lucas curls his fingers around it reverently, as though the warmth of it is soaking into his skin.

“Did you miss it?” Adam asks as they pull out of the city.

“Miss what?” Lucas frowns slightly, pursing his lips, and Adam smiles, easing onto the motorway.

“Tea,” he says.

“Yes. Very much.” Lucas laughs and unfolds a little in the seat, unhunching from around his paper cup. “Missed this as well,” he says more quietly, staring out at the city as it rushes past the window.

“Even this? All the hatred, all the anger. Did you miss that too?” He’s pushing, cutting close to bone, but Lucas is too still, too quiet. He almost wants to shake him just to get a rise out of him.

“Yes,” Lucas says, quiet and honest, still cradling the half-empty cup between his palms. “Even this.” There’s a smile on his face when Adam chances a glance at him, and it widens when their eyes meet in the interior mirror.

***

They move like they’ve been working together for years, liquid ghosts creeping through the darkness. Lucas slides into Adam’s negative spaces, exactly where he needs to be, picking up on silent cues as though he’s inside Adam’s head. He eases the door open with slick, efficient moments, and the small portion of Adam’s mind that’s not caught up in the operation takes time to admire Lucas’s clever hands, the way he’s retained his skills even through eight years of imprisonment.

It doesn’t take them long to find the phone, sliding out of the house as though they were never there and re-engaging the locks as they go. Adam keeps the lights off as they drive down the road, only throwing them back on when they’re well away from the house, and Lucas’s grin is bright in the interior mirror.

“We’ll get this back to Malcolm and then see about some sleep,” Adam decides, easing out onto the main road and feeling the tightness in his shoulders return full force. There’s nothing to be done now until Malcolm tracks their soldier down, and the helplessness is smothering again.

“Sleep,” Lucas echoes, and twists the word into something ugly.

“There’s a spare bed at mine,” Adam says, determinedly not looking at Lucas’s face in the mirror as he heads for Thames House.

***

“More tea?” Adam’s house is far warmer than the grid, the central heating working overtime to counteract the high ceilings and laminate floors. He leaves the lights alone, toeing off his shoes and padding through to the kitchen barefoot.

“I didn’t miss it that much,” Lucas says, trying for exasperated, but the expression on his face is amused as he follows Adam down the hallway on silent feet.

“Something stronger then?” It takes him a moment to find the tumblers and even longer to find the whiskey, the spots under the counters throwing shadows across the floor. He’s dead on his feet, the adrenaline leaving only exhaustion behind. The whiskey pours steady and clear and Lucas’s fingers are cold against his own as takes the glass from Adam’s hand.

“ _Za zda-ró-vye_.” Lucas’s voice is bitter as smoke, his smile more grimace than grin as he taps the rim of his glass against Adam’s own and raises it to his lips.

“Your health,” Adam replies, and watches Lucas watching him while he drinks. There’s a sharpness in his eyes now, the glimpse of sharp edges from the grid’s bathroom slipping out from under the mask again and Adam breathes into it, swallows the peat-smoke of his whiskey and bares his teeth just a little.

“What did you miss the most?” he asks, pressing into the bruised places and watching Lucas lean into the pain of it.

“This.” Lucas raises his glass and drains it deliberately, setting it down smoothly on the counter. “This.” He raises his arms, stretches his hands up towards the ceiling, tipping his head back to elongate his spine, lungs expanding as he breathes in deep. “This.” Lucas’s smile is all teeth as he brings his arms back down, leaning in to trap Adam against the counter, stepping into his space smooth and careless, a large cat toying with cornered prey.

But Adam is not a mouse to be played with, and he meets Lucas’s mouth halfway, slick press of open mouths and a sigh that sounds like the first breath after drowning. Lucas’s hands fall to his hips, thumbs pressing into the lines of his iliac crests, stroking lightly, in counterpoint to the mess he’s making of Adam’s mouth, the sharpness of his teeth against Adam’s lower lip as he pulls back enough to catch Adam’s gaze again.

“Tell me you want this.” His voice is rough now, dangerous, and Adam runs his thumbs up Lucas’s biceps, feeling the tension held carefully below the surface, the rage that simmers just below his rapidly warming skin.

“I’m not going to break,” Adam assures him, sliding a hand up to the back of Lucas’s neck to tug him closer, pressing their mouths together again. Lucas moves then, presses Adam up against the counter with his hips, his teeth working down Adam’s neck in stinging bites that spark down Adam’s spine. He tips his head back in silent acquiescence, leaning into the strong hands that cradle his shoulder-blades.

“About that bed?” Lucas purrs into his ear, and Adam laughs as he pulls himself back together. His skin is cold where Lucas’s hands are no longer holding him, and his reflection in the glass of the windows is dishevelled, shirt creased and skin flushed pink.

Adam tugs his shirt off as they reach his bedroom, undoing the first few buttons and tugging it up over his head, too hot in his own skin. Lucas’s hands trail up his sides, chasing the tail of his shirt up over Adam’s shoulders, and Adam tugs harder, hands caught in the still-buttoned cuffs as Lucas bites at his neck again, presses himself to Adam’s back, still fully clothed.

“Need some help?” Lucas asks, and Adam can hear the laughter spilling into his words, echoed in the softness of the kiss to the top of his shoulder as he lets his arms go lax, lets Lucas ease him from his cotton prison. Lucas guides their mouths back together even as he works on Adam’s cuffs, and Adam closes his eyes to it, leaning back against the warmth of him and giving back in slick tongue and sharp little bites.

Lucas frees him from his shirt and throws it unceremoniously into a corner, hands sliding down to Adam’s waist, guiding him towards the bed and Adam goes willingly, slipping into Lucas’s negative spaces as he sinks down onto the mattress, pushing his jeans down off his hips as Lucas tugs the buttons open on his own shirt. He can’t help but lick the ink splashed across Lucas’s chest, tracing the Ancient of Days with the tip of his tongue until Lucas shivers and pulls back out of reach, caging Adam against the bed with his knees either side of Adam’s hips.

Adam takes a moment to study him, angles amplified by the low light spilling through the uncurtained window, deep shadows caressing Lucas’s hips, his abs, the curves of his arms. He’s underfed and the bones at his hips are sharp under Adam’s palms as he rests his hands there, breathing for a moment, caught up in the heat of Lucas’s body, the sweet friction of his jeans where they rub at his cock, still trapped in his boxers.

“Take what you want,” Adam murmurs, rubbing his thumbs over the ink on Lucas’s stomach and arching just enough that the friction between them sparks down his spine. The smile Lucas gives him in return is sharp, sliding from his face as he leans in again, changes the angle between them and pins Adam even more surely to the bed, gently peeling Adam’s hands from his hips and easing them up to the pillow either side of his head.

“Dangerous thing to say, that,” he purrs, biting at the point of Adam’s jaw as though to make a point. Adam just tips his head back in response, easing his jeans off his legs with his feet and letting his knees fall open. As malnourished as Lucas might be, he has enough sharp edges to do real damage. The knowledge of it sparks up Adam’s spine, a flicker of adrenaline to add to the heat flushing across his skin as Lucas bites at his collar-bone, grazes a nipple with his teeth.

Adam goes where Lucas leads, closing his eyes as Lucas’s hands trail down his stomach, peel his boxers away and wrap warm and confident around his cock, stroking and petting until Adam is arching and desperate, turning his face into the pillow to smother the sounds spilling from his mouth. He doesn’t beg, not with words at least, though he can’t hide the sharp sigh of relief when Lucas guides Adam’s knee up and out, opening him up enough that Lucas can slide between his thighs, rock their cocks together in the cradle of Adam’s hips, hot and slick and so perfectly synchronised.

He has to touch then, has to run his hands over Lucas’s shoulders, up his neck to pull Lucas’s mouth back to his, spill his gasps into the hot, sticky space between them. Lucas’s hips stutter against him and Adam can hear himself murmuring, nothing-sounds of encouragement and need, arching his back to change the angle until they fit together perfectly, fingers digging bruises into each other’s skin.

It’s Lucas who comes first, hiding his face in Adam’s neck as his hips lose all rhythm, a half-pained groan spilling out of him even as Adam digs his nails into his shoulder-blades, rocks his hips up desperately, dancing on the edge of it for a moment before his spine goes liquid, orgasm flooding through him like fire, stealing the tension from his shoulders, the weight of the world from his mind for a moment.

Lucas is warm on top of him, his body heavy with sleep, and Adam rolls them enough to put Lucas on his back, kissing the sudden tension from him as he tugs the duvet over them both. The first grey shards of dawn are already creeping through the window, highlighting the ink that spills across Lucas’s skin, the raw red marks they’ve both left on each other. Sleep tugs at him invitingly, Lucas’s breathing shallowing out into a seashore whisper, and Adam files it all away for the morning as exhaustion pulls him down.


End file.
